Well, it appears that some people still want to read this story. If you are not one of them, fine. But I enjoy it. It's nice to be back, and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 10

A week passed without incident. Routines were established. Schedules kept. And while everyone seemed to be happy to return to normalcy, Peter watched helplessly as Grace shrank away from him. They didn't talk anymore, even though he still slept on ground in front of her door every night.

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't do that anymore," Claire commented one day as they longed by the pool reading.

Peter set down his book. He'd only gotten through about five pages in an hour anyway. "Why do you say that?"

"The line between stalker and friend can be easily crossed."

"You don't get it. She wants me there."

"Did she ask?"

"Not exactly."

"Stalker." Peter chuckled, but Claire's next words had a serious tone. "What do you know about her anyway?"

"She's had it rough. Don't know much about her mom, but I know for a fact that her Dad is a piece of work. And you know some of the other stuff that's happened."

Claire nodded. "And?"

"I'm not telling you the other stuff."

"From your dreams?"

"From our dreams, yes. What are you so worried about anyway?"

"I don't know, there's just something that's not… not right."

"You really don't know what you're talking about Claire."

"And you do? You can't know someone that well in two weeks." She turned on her side, sliding the sunglasses down her nose. "Peter, you know one of the things I really like about you?"

"Do tell."

"You have a big heart. And that is a great thing, because, well, look at what it appears we are fated to do, right? I bet you were that kid who brought home sick animals and tried to make splints out of toothpicks. But you can't bring any wounded thing home and hope that you can make it better."

"Grace is worth saving."

"Sure. But my question to you is, why do you have to do the saving? Do you love her?"

"No! We just have a connection."

"Through your powers. If she couldn't link up with you, then where would you be?"

Peter was a bit stunned. "I don't know. I suppose it's different when you can't keep secrets from each other."

"Everyone has secrets."

"You would know."

"What?"

Peter sighed, forgetting that he'd been invisible on the rooftop when Claire admitted she had been awake during her time with Sylar. "Look, I don't want to fight about this. If you're serious about our 'fate' or whatever, then start by being a hero and cutting Grace a bit of slack."

Claire glared at her uncle. "Stop sleeping under her doorway."

"No."

Claire smiled. "Stalker."

XXXXXXXXXX

"A ball?" Mr. Bennett asked incredulously.

"That's what he said."

"And to think I left my Cinderella dress back in Texas."

"We could go and get it," Hiro said kindly, but Claire just repressed a giggle and patted his arm.

"Look, I think it's really more of a fancy party. A fundraiser of some kind. I don't know. It was a little confusing on the phone. But what I do know is that he wants us all to be there and there will be tuxes." Peter explained as the clan sat in the living room later that day. "I don't really care what you guys decide to do, but I'm going. I want to support him."

"Me too," added Claire. Peter gave her a confused look. "I think it's probably time I apologize for the car."

Mr. Bennett considered the facts. "I don't know. It might be risky for all of us to move at once."

"Any more risky then for us to be split apart and weakened?" Suresh asked.

"You make a good point."

"I hate dressing up, but I'll go." Hiro chimed in.

"Then it's settled."

"But…" Bennett started.

"Aw come on Dad. I don't get a prom. At least let me have a shin dig." Noah couldn't respond. It was the first time she'd called him dad since he'd held her down in the back of the van.

"Fine."

"Excellent. Tomorrow we all go shopping." The men universally groaned. "Grace, you and I will have to pick out something nice together."

"We will?" She'd meant it to be a statement, but her surprise made it a question. Grace shot a look a Peter. But he just shrugged.

Everybody went off in different directions, leaving Peter and Grace alone in the living room. He sat on the couch next to her. "So, did you get your prom?"

"Well, yes. But it sucked. I was at a boarding school at the time, and it was drunken frat trust fund buffet. Not exactly a choice memory maker. You?"

"I got stood up."

"Really?"

"Really. I had a crush on a girl, and I asked her to the prom. I got her flowers. I did everything right. I find out later that she just couldn't go through with it. Having such an important memory be attached at a guy like me. It's silly. It was just prom."

"Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt."

"True."

"Maybe Claire's right."

"About what?"

Peter looked over at Grace. In the soft lamp light her features glowed. "Nothing."

"Do you think there will be dancing at the party?" she asked.

"Why?"

"It's not my favorite thing."

" Yes, I think there will probably be dancing."

"Oh."

"Can you dance?"

"Yes. But I don't like to anymore."

"Neither do I. So let's practice." Peter got up and extended a hand to Grace.

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Come on. You've been avoiding me all week. Rude even."

"And you guilting me now makes us even yes?"

"Indulge me. You can even tell me why you hate dancing."

Grace stood without using his hand. "Fine. But you won't like it."

They moved to the middle of the living room. Peter extended an arm out and Grace took it. She placed a hand on his shoulder, he wondered if her thumb had purposefully traced his collar bone. He put a hand on her hip in a quite gentlemanly place, but she couldn't help but notice how was it was. They swayed a bit and soon fell into a steady rhythm. It would have been perfect if Grace hadn't started explaining.

"When I was kidnapped, captured, they liked to get drunk and make me dance with them. And when I'd shove them away, it was just another reason for them to beat me." Peter stopped moving completely. "See I told you. Are we done?"

"No, it's alright." He began to move again, and Grace reluctantly followed. "Keep going."

"I don't like thinking about it."

Neither do I, Peter thought. "They didn't you know…"

"Rape me?"

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "That."

"No. But they had done it to other people, and they showed me. That was enough." Peter could feel the memories starting to bubble to the surface. He tried to pull Grace a little closer, as if he could protect her, but she stopped him. "It's OK Peter."

"That's not too convincing."

"That's because it's not OK, not really."

"Then why did you say it?

"Because I keep hoping that if I say it enough, eventually it will come true."

"That's a bit absurd."

"Well, we can't all be in total denial land like you."

"What?"

"Well, you've made a pretty miraculous recovery from a literal and physical melt down." Peter looked away. "I know you haven't been talking about it all this week. But I also know it's in your dreams."

"Is it so hard to believe that I'm over this?"

"Yes."

Peter was getting agitated. "Whatever."

"Wow, perfectionism really does run deep in your family."

"And I suppose insanity is the hallmark of yours, considering your father."

Grace gripped his shoulder tightly, "Do not talk about things you don't understand."

"Same to you."

"I think we're done."

Grace tried to step away from Peter's grip, but he pulled her roughly closer, so he could speak quietly into her ear. "Do you want to know why I hate dancing?"

"Let me go."

"Dancing is all a game, isn't it? A lie. People don't want to admit that they want to be held or touched, because that shows weakness. So we make up this excuse to be near one another and sway to the music. It's pathetic."

"Then isn't it ironic, then, that we both hate dancing so, so much." In a flash, Grace had Peter by the throat. Even though he could have broken her grip easily he instead let her hip go as they stood deadlocked in the living room. "My mother was killed. My father abandoned me. The first person I loved tried to kill me, and a whole bunch of stuff in between. What's your excuse?"

"People shouldn't have excuses for their behavior."

Grace released her grip. "Then go outside and fly into the night sky, right now." Peters jaw tightened, but he made no effort to move.

"This isn't about me."

"Keep saying that Peter. Keep saying that and maybe it will come true."

"At least when things get better for me, I'll know how to appreciate it."

"I think you need to find a new dance partner." Grace began to walk away. "Stay out of my room."

Peter flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes. It seemed to him that everything in his life had to start out innocent then reveal itself to be more complicated than a labyrinth. His family. His powers. And now Grace. But Claire was right, he couldn't let her go, still wanted to help. He just hoped that his initial read on her wasn't wrong, that it wasn't too late.

For either of them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Asleep on the couch, Peter found himself in one of Grace's dreams again. He didn't exactly desire having this involuntary invasion occur, but it was better than letting her into his mind. Peter had asked Grace once why the memories they shared were always like being placed in a movie instead of a first person account from inside the memory holder's eyes. Grace had shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe they aren't really our memories, just recreations of the moment."

He scanned his surroundings carefully. It appeared that he was in a museum of some kind, large with highly polished wood floors and afternoon sunlight warmly highlighting small dust particles in the air. Peter began to walk around the room, looking at the pictures. It was a WWII exhibit.

"Stop fidgeting." Peter recognized that voice. He turned toward the tones, a man in his thirties in profile, but no, it couldn't be him. The man was too young, no beard, no defeated slouch, no bedraggled appearance. Peter almost walked away, but then, "Gracie…" A small girl, no more than nine or ten, swung using the man's arm as a brace to arch her back as far as it would go. She had one blue eye, the other green, and strawberry blonde hair. The man gave the girl a sharp tug, and she straightened up immediately. "What did I just say?"

"Sorry."

Claude placed a kind arm on Grace's shoulder as Peter went to stand behind the two. "You know," his tone was much kinder now, "most kids are sitting in school right now, bored."

"I wish I could be in school right now."

The man sighed, "I know."

"I really liked school. I got A's you know. All A's."

Claude chuckled, "You told me. But we've talked about why you can't go."

Grace nodded. "It's dangerous."

"That's right. So we keep moving, and I teach you everything."

"Everything? Dad, that's silly."

"Everything that's important." Peter smirked a bit.

"Hitler's important?"

"Very." Claude looked from his daughter back up to the poster on the wall. Hitler was shown standing in a car waving to crowds of the faithful. "You've been reading that book I got for you, right?"

"Of course."

"Then you know what he did."

Grace shuddered a little. "All those people."

"Do you know why?"

Grace thought for a moment, and Claude watched patiently. When had he stopped having patience, Peter wondered. "He… I don't know."

"Just because he thought he was right."

"But he was wrong."

"Hitler didn't think so. In his mind he was right, and people like you and me who felt the opposite way, were crazy. And if you were different, he eliminated you."

"Oh." Grace was quiet for a minute. "He would have killed people like us, wouldn't he?"

"Especially people like us."

"I'm glad he's dead."

"There are still people like him out there Gracie. People who would like nothing more than to hurt us or kill us. That's why we keep moving, that's why we keep going." Claude looked into his daughters eyes, bright and watering, and crouched down to put his hands on her shoulders. "I wish things were different. I tried so hard to make things different for you, and… one day it'll be better. And until that day comes, I promise you that nothing is going to happen to you. I can't let it happen to you too."

"It's OK dad."

Claude let go of his daughter with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. "Why don't you go and explore." Grace began to walk away, "what's our rule?"

She didn't turn, "Stay where you can see me."

"Right, stay where…" but she was too far away to hear the affirmation, so Claude returned to reading the placard next to the picture.

Peter backed away from him slowly, stunned. Of all the words that Peter could conjure to describe Claude, 'loving' and 'father' were never on the list. But here he was, apparently a single parent on the run. From what?

Peter turned and followed Grace's path. Farther down the room she had enmeshed herself with a school group roughly her age. The students stood enraptured as a grandfatherly type in full military garb spoke, "…So that's when we got to a concentration camp. Does anyone know what a concentration camp was?" There was a chorus of yeses, and one no from a laughing boy who quickly thereafter had a terse conversation with his teacher. "Good good, you must all be paying attention in class. Now does anyone know what happened there?"

The teacher, young and severely dressed, released the arm of the laughing boy and piped in. "Mr. Garrison, I'm not sure that's an appropriate thing to discuss with children this age."

The officer nodded, "You're right. I was twenty Miss, and I was too young. I'm still too young."

"Is there anything else you can talk to my students about?"

"Actually," he reached under his cheap folding chair, "I did bring along my helmet. You guys can touch it if you want." The children pushed forward, finger straining past each other's heads and shoulders to be the first to touch the polished metal. Peter smiled at their exuberance. "Why don't we pass it around, huh?"

A boy got it first, turning it over in his hands. Then a girl got it, holding it in one hand as if the thing was radioactive waste. She reached out to hand the helmet on. Peter watched with interest as Grace held it reverently, resting it on her hand to appreciate the weight and heft of the object. Then she froze, a hand gripping the edge fiercely, her eyes dilating just a bit.

The officer looked at Grace and smiled. "I think that you ought to pass that on now."

Grace didn't respond. Peter's heart sank, and he invisibly moved through the crowd.

"Miss?"

Peter stood next to her, helplessly watching as a ten year old absorb the memories of a WWII vet who had liberated a concentration camp and lord knew what else. Grace began to cry, silently, her eyes focused in the distance. The other adults were exchanging worried glances at each other, and eventually another girl got angry and wrenched the helmet away, callously saying "Who taught you how to share?"

Grace stayed still for a moment. And then she began to scream. Not an angry scream, but one that came from deep in her gut. Grace screamed and screamed and screamed. The adults could only stare at each other confused.

Suddenly Claude was there. "What did I tell you, what did I tell you about being careful." He tucked her into his arms and carried her away with ease, rushing to a secluded and empty hallway. He quickly sat on the floor, Grace between his legs, her heaving chest on his stomach. "Shhh, shhhh." She was still screaming, and Peter guessed that Claude must have turned the pair invisible. Grace tried curl into a ball but Claude was stronger, hugging her to himself. Grace quieted a little, but then she suddenly began to scratch her arms with her finger nails, drawing small lines on blood. "No no Gracie, we don't do that anymore. Remember words, we use words. Tell me about it Gracie." He took her small hands in his own. "Tell me everything."

"No no no…"

"It's OK; it's going to be alright."

"No no no…"

They stayed like that for a while, each stuck in an endless loop of the same words and rocking. It was obvious this was not the first time they had been in this situation. Peter studied the pair. Claude's eyes had bags under them, he realized. And Grace, she was much smaller than the other children her age.

"See?" Peter whipped around. Now Grace was standing there, one arm scratching the other. "I'm cursed."

Peter tried to walk toward her, but she backed away. And before he could get any closer, everything faded to black.

XXXXXXXXXX

Peter awoke with a start, sitting up so hard and fast that he nearly threw out his neck. Rubbing hard, he bounded up the stairs to Grace's room. She was kicking in her sleep, one arm mercilessly tearing at the other. He turned on the side table lamp, and was sickened by the small drops of blood that had spattered on the comforter. With little thought to how it might look he climbed on top of Grace, using his legs to stop hers, and pinning an elbow under each hand. "Grace." He was forceful. "Grace wake up."

Her eyes flew open, and he let up a little on the pressure on her arms. Bad idea. Before he could even try to defend himself one of Grace's arms flew up, the butt of her hand catching him right in the nose, snapping the cartilage. Peter groaned and rolled away. Grace scampered from the bed, her eyes wild, pressing her back against a window.

"What the hell Grace."

"He, they…" she was babbling. "He buried the bodies… all the bodies… a woman couldn't find her baby… she was crying and…" Grace's breathing slowed, but remained hitched. Suddenly her eyes refocused a bit. "What happened?"

Peter's nose had finished healing, so he wiped the blood from his face with the bottom of his t-shirt. "You broke my nose."

"Sorry."

"Who did you think I was?"

"You shouldn't have touched me. I don't like being touched." It was Grace talking, but Peter had never seen her so on edge.

"I'm not just going to stand by and let you have bad dreams."

"Stop trying Peter. It makes you look pathetic."

Peter was taken aback. "What the fuck is this Grace?"

Grace ran a hand through her hair. "I'm going out."

She reached for her coat but Peter blocked the door before she could leave. "No you're not."

"Move."

"This isn't like you."

"You," she pointed, "don't know what you're talking about. Move."

Peter stood firm. He knew Grace. She would just calm down and go back to sleep.

She punched him again, a sucker right in the cheek that shook his teeth. Peter managed to stagger away enough for Grace to slide past him. She careened down the stairs, Peter right behind her.

She made it through the front door and out onto the street. Peter got within a few yards. "Grace, don't make me stop you."

Grace halted, breathing hard. The sun was rising in the distance, and she squinted at the brightness, rubbing her injured arm slowly.

Peter walked up next to her. "I could heal that."

"No."

"Don't be silly. It's got to hurt."

Grace ignored him. "I used to do it all the time. It'll heal on its own."

"But it doesn't need to."

"Peter, let it go."

They watched the sunrise on the horizon for minute. "I know that you've had to do a lot of stuff on your own. But you don't have to now."

"You're only saying that because your naïve."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry."

He looked at her hard. "No you're not."

"You're right. But I'm right too."

"Do you hope for bad things to happen to you?"

"I don't hope for anything. Hope kills you, slowly, from the inside out."

"You don't really believe that. I don't get you Grace. Where is all of this coming from? I know we're both scared… but when we first met it seemed like…"

He could have said more, many more angry words. But their moment was interrupted by Suresh, standing on the doorstep, barefooted, gun in hand. "Grace? Peter?"

"Suresh?" Peter blinked in confusion. "Isn't it a little early for firearms?"

He lowered the weapon and walked toward the pair. "There was a commotion and the front door was wide open. Molly was scared that it was Sylar." He looked at Peter's bloody t-shirt and Grace's attire of pajamas and a too large leather coat. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," they said in unison.

"Sure. Breakfast's on." Suresh walked away. "When did this become normal?"

Peter sighed, "Let's go inside Grace."

She didn't say anything, just brushed past him and disappeared. Peter watched her go, then followed behind quietly.

XXXXXXXXXX

From behind a car he watched to two of them run from the house, then fight. It was working out, wasn't it? Almost too well. It made him smile to see Suresh immerge with a gun later. Like that fool could even find the trigger. And the parting comment about normal? Well, that would eat at her, he knew, he knew. She could pretend to be so calm or strong but he knew the truth, the awful truth. And before the day was over, he'd have her spilled blood as proof.

To Be Continued…

Next time… Sylar's back! And more action!